The Murder of Draco Malfoy
by EthyleneGlycol
Summary: One must find a killer to protect his peers, the other to satiate her thirst for vengeance. But one thing is clear, the murderer must be found before it's too late. But time is running out, and there is no one for these foes to turn to but each other.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not my mine, but if it were I would be a published novelist and not writing fanfiction.

**A/N: **Read, review, and most importantly, enjoy.

**A/N2: ** A/U. Takes place in sixth year. I've borrowed a few plot elements from _Half-Blood Prince_, but those won't begin to show up for another chapter or two.

**One**

Severus Snape was having a bad day. This in itself was nothing significant, because when you're Severus Snape, bad days are pretty common. Between students that didn't know wormwood from asphodel, Harry Potter, Dumbledore's demands, and Harry Potter, not much had gone right for him since 1977.

"Fool," Severus said, taking a vindictive pleasure in pointing out another error in the most recent essay turned in by Harry Potter.

"I've got you again, Potter." Severus laughed, taking another opportunity to point out where and just how badly Harry Potter was mistaken.

A knock at the door interrupted him from his task.

Severus glanced at the clock and went to answer the door, muttering to himself. "Eleven-thirty? Who would be disturbing me at this hour?" He wrenched open the door. "This better be important."

He was shocked to find the pale visage of Minerva McGonagall staring back at him.

"Minerva? Is something the matter?"

She looked unsure of herself. The Minerva McGonagall that Severus knew only looked unsure of herself only during the most troubling of times. Outside of the constant threat of the Dark Lord, there was little Severus could think of that could shake Minerva. There was no way the Dark Lord had struck at Hogwarts yet, though. Not with the lack of progress Draco was making.

"I…um…" she took a deep breath, steadying herself. "You ought to just come and see for yourself, Severus. It's too much for me to explain."

"Minerva?" said Severus, following her out of the door.

The cold stone corridors of Hogwarts were dark as Severus followed Minerva to their destination. Their way was lit by the occasional flickering torch, and the echoing click of their heels cloaked them in an ominous feeling. Severus had been in his share of unsettling situations, but he had never quite become accustomed to the castle at night. The corridors were lit equal parts with flickering torchlight or nothing, leaving them in pitch black darkness. He did not experience the willies very often, but this was one of those occasions.

They stopped at a third floor classroom that, if Severus recalled correctly, was rarely, if ever, used.

"What exactly are we doing here?"

"You'll see," said Minerva, still pale. She opened the door for Severus, gesturing him inside.

Severus stepped inside and quickly covered his face. His nose had been assaulted by not only the musty air of a dusty, rarely used room, but also the overpowering stench of blood. Severus peered through the semi-darkness of the room and noticed someone hovering over a crumpled form.

"Severus, is that you?"

"Headmaster?"

He heard Dumbledore sigh. "You'd best come here and see for yourself."

Severus slowly wove his way through the maze of desks, dreading what the shape lying on the floor could be. When he reached the mess on the floor, he looked down, hardly believing his eyes.

"Albus," stammered Severus, uncharacteristically addressing the headmaster in an informal manner. "It can't be…"

The Headmaster cleared his throat. "We checked the body for tampering or any sort of illusion. I'm so sorry, Severus."

He looked down at the body. "No. This can't be. Not Draco."

Albus stood up and put his hand on Severus' shoulder. "We'll find the person who did this, Severus."

"How did you find him, Albus? It would appear that this classroom hasn't been used for quite some time."

He looked around the room, which was lit with a bright, shining light of the Headmaster's making. He noticed an omnipresent layer of dust, disturbed only be a scattering of footsteps, drag marks, and bloodstains.

"Mr. Filch noticed the door ajar on his final sweep of the castle for the evening."

They stood in silent contemplation, both at a lost of what to do next: never before had a student been murdered within the halls of Hogwarts. Accidents and injuries, they were relatively commonplace. Virtually every member of the staff had served in the First and Second Wars in some capacity, but coldblooded murder inside the hallowed halls of the school was outside the experience of all.

"The Aurors, Albus?"

"Filius left before you arrived to call them; they should be here shortly." He paused. "I wanted to give you a chance to see him before the Aurors and Narcissa started poking around."

"Thank you, Albus." Severus' eyes were shining with unshed tears in a rare display of emotion. "But do you have any idea as to whom? Any at all?"

Albus looked uncomfortable, avoiding Severus' gaze.

"Albus? Who is it?"

"I don't know, Severus."

"You have absolutely no idea?"

"I'm afraid not."

So this is what it had come to. The great Albus Dumbeldore, one of the most powerful wizards in the United Kingdom; quite possibly the world, completely at a loss for the cause of one of the most violent occurrences Hogwarts had seen in quite some time.

"When we find this person," said Severus, voice full of venom, "I won't be held responsible for my actions."

"I know, Severus. I know."

They stood in silence, both lost in thought. Severus gripped in emotions he rarely allowed himself to experience; Dumbledore steeped in shock of how such an atrocity could be committed under his watch. They stood like this, heads bowed, until the Aurors arrived and McGonagall had to gently guide them from the room. They stood in the corridor for a moment, listening to the quiet murmurs of the Aurors investigating the crime scene until Dumbledore finally raised his head, a trace of the trademark twinkle returning to his eyes.

"Come, Severus, Minerva. We have much to discuss, and but little time." Dumbledore turned and strode away in the direction of his office, Severus and Minerva following quickly in his wake.

* * *

><p>"There is no way," said Ron, bits of egg flying from his fork as he gesticulated wildly, "that Tutshill can do it again."<p>

"Who's going to beat them? Chudley?"

"I'm telling you, Harry, this is their year. Gordon is a fantastic Keeper and the new Seeker we brought over from Poland…"

Ron trailed off as he noticed the Great Hall had fallen silent. Through the doors strode a tall, blonde figure. Her wardrobe spoke of wealth, her expression of disdain. Disdain for the cold stone of Hogwarts, for the eyes of each and every student upon her, and of the sight of Professor Dumbledore, who rose from the staff table to greet her. They left the Great Hall together, headed towards his office.

"What is Narcissa Malfoy doing here?" asked Harry, as the volume in the Great Hall returned to its normal level.

"I don't know," answered Hermione, "But if she's risking a public appearance, it can't be anything good."

Harry looked around the Great Hall, his eyes coming to rest on the Slytherin table.

"Hermione, look over at the Slytherins."

Hermione sighed exasperatedly. "Yes, I see them, Harry. They've been sitting on that side of the hall for the past six years."

"I know they're over there. What I'm talking about who isn't over there."

Ron's head came up from his meal to comment. "Are you on about this again, Harry? Malfoy isn't up to anything out of the ordinary. He probably just lost his bottle of hair gel or something."

"This isn't funny, Ron," Harry said, frustrated. "Don't you think it's strange that Malfoy just happens to miss breakfast the same day his mother shows up at Hogwarts, leaving to talk to Dumbledore?"

"Maybe he's just sick or something," said Hermione. "You need to stop obsessing over Malfoy. I think it's starting to get to you a little bit."

"I'm telling you, Hermione, something is up…"

"Just lay off mate," interjected Ron from Hermione's side. "Even if he was up to something, it's not like he could actually accomplish anything. He may be a slimy git, but he's still only Malfoy."

"I'm telling you…"

Harry was interrupted by the arrival of the very people they were discussing.

"Potter."

He turned around to face the person. "Parkinson? What are you doing over here? Isn't your den on the other side of the Hall?"

"You should know very well, Potter. You may be the hero of Gryffindor and the rest of this school, but I know," she said, pointing at herself, "what you did, and have no intention of letting you get away with it."

He watched them walk away, confusion etched into his brain. If they were blaming him for something, it couldn't be good. "Something bad happened to Malfoy, and the Slytherins think I'm the cause of it."

"They're barmy, the whole lot of them," said Ron, pushing himself up from the table. "Just forget about it, we don't want to be late for Care of Magical Creatures."

* * *

><p>"Get up, everybody. Snape is downstairs," said a voice from the doorway.<p>

One angry voice penetrated the sleepy murmuring and the rustling of four teenage girls being awoken at the crack of dawn.

"It's five in the morning, why does Snape have to be here now?"

"I don't know, Pansy," said Tracey Davis, as her face appeared from behind the green hangings of her bed. "But it must be important."

"It better be," muttered Pansy.

Daphne Greengrass laughed as she pulled on a dressing gown. "I'm sure he'll be very apologetic when he hears of how he awakened you before you wished to be. Now come on, we need to get downstairs before Snape gets even more upset."

"Upset? How do you know he's upset?" asked Millicent Bulstrode from the doorway.

"Why else would he wake us up this early to speak with us?" Daphne asked. "He could have easily waited another hour or two. Or better yet, until after classes. Now come on, we need to get downstairs."

Pansy, Daphne, Tracey, and Millicent all left the sixth year girls dormitory in single file, and stifling their displeasure over bare feet on ice cold stone, they quietly made their way out into the hallway and down the stairs, the quiet voices echoing up the stone stairway letting them know that they had missed the beginning of the meeting. Pansy stopped at the foot of the stairs, motioning the others to do the same. She heard a voice that sounded like Blaise Zabini's.

"What was that, Professor? I don't think I heard what you were saying."

"Don't be a fool, boy. You heard perfectly well what I just said." Snape paused, taking a deep breath, "Draco Malfoy is dead."

Pansy gasped, and eyes rolling back in her head, collapsed down the last few steps.

The sixth year girls on the staircase who remained conscious heard Snape sigh. "She best not be dead, as we've already had quite enough of that for one morning."

"No, Professor," came the voice of Daphne Greengrass, "She just passed out is all."

"Bloody wonderful," muttered Snape. "Bring her down here and lay her on the couch."

Daphne and Tracey grabbed Pansy by her arms and legs and placed her on the couch that Snape had indicated. He knelt beside her, and removed a vial from his robes. Pansy coughed as Snape placed the uncorked vial underneath her nose.

"Wha…What happened? The last thing I remember is the Professor saying…"

"Yes, Pansy. It's true." Snape said, and then leaned closer to her. "I'm sorry, I knew what was in store for the two of you."

Pansy noted the rest of her housemates watching closely, trying to catch a whisper of the conversation between her and their head of house. "Let's not talk about that now, Professor."

"Yes, of course." Snape stood up. "I know this comes as a shock to you all, and I will not ask you to fake remorse if you do not feel it. Draco Malfoy was a polarizing figure in this common room, but do not go out of your way to make light of his death when there are some that have been touched so closely by this tragedy." He cleared his throat. "All of you get ready for classes. I expect you at breakfast at the usual time. We will show the school a united front as usual, for the student body will not be told of Draco's death until dinner time; the Headmaster wishes to inform his mother first. My door is open if any of you wish to speak with me."

Snape turned and walked out of the Common Room, leaving a group of speechless Slytherins in his wake.

"I would bet anything Potter had something to do with this. Maybe Dumbledore did too."

"Shut up, Goyle," said Zabini's irritated voice. "Just because Malfoy is dead doesn't mean his obsession with Potter and Dumbledore needs to be inherited by you. I'm sure it was just an accident or something of the sort."

"Accidents happen all the time at Hogwarts," said a third year boy who was standing in the corner of the room with a group of his friends. "Snape would have told us how he would have died if it had been an accident."

An uneasy silence settled over the group as his words sunk in. After a few moments, Pansy, from her place on the couch, began to speak.

"No, I think Andrew might have a point. Snape would have told us if it had just been some sort of horrible accident. There's definitely something more sinister going on here."

Blaise sighed. "Come on, Parkinson. We all know how you obsessed over the little bastard, but that doesn't mean you have to look for a way to avenge his death. I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. Snape said the student body wouldn't be informed until later. I'm sure the professors just want to be sure of what happened to try and eliminate some of the wild speculation that would undoubtedly occur."

"Shut it, Zabini. Just because you didn't care for Draco the way I did doesn't mean that you should dismiss his death. There's definitely something going on here, and I intend to find out."

"And how do you intend to do that? Attempt to threaten and bully Potter and his friends before they put you in their place, just as they did to dear old Draco?" He walked over to the door. "Be sure to tell me if you plan on taking that course of action, as I'm sure I'll be able to get a laugh or two out of it."

Pansy noticed that the rest of the room was staring at her expectantly, but she ignored them, walking up the stairs to get dressed for breakfast. She knew that she was going to have to attempt to take up the mantle left behind by Draco's demise, lest that insufferable Zabini stepped in and destabilized the image of Slytherin Draco's influence had worked so hard to craft. With the Dark Lord back, it was more important then ever to define themselves as something apart from the general Hogwarts' population. These thoughts occupied her throughout her morning routine.

"Pansy?" Daphne's voice shook her from her reverie. "We need to talk."

Pansy sighed. "Alright. But can we do it on the way to breakfast?"

Daphne nodded her ascent and the two walked out of the dungeons. The sound of their footsteps echoed eerily off the underground corridors, as they did seemingly every morning since their first night at Hogwarts, five years ago. So much had changed since then. Pansy was no longer the bright-eyed girl, so full of curiosity and optimism, she was when she was 11. Five years of influence from the darker elements of Slytherin had seen to that.

"What are you going to do, Pansy?"

Pansy gave a cheerless little laugh. "Do? What can I do? Without Draco, Slytherin will fall to the moderating influences of Dumbledore and Potter and soon enough we'll all be killed by the Dark Lord for failing him."

"The Dark Lord wouldn't dare."

"When exactly has he shown compassion when dealing with his followers? He thinks that we grow on trees, Daph. Don't begin to consider yourself indispensible, because you aren't. No one is."

They finished readying for the morning in silence, Pansy forcing herself to calm down. There would be time to mourn later in the day, once the scrutiny of the school would not be an issue. Now was time to show the school that she could be a force by herself, without Draco's backing. She would not allow Potter free reign in this school now that Draco was gone. She intended to prove that she could be just as effective as a counterbalance, if not more so, than Draco had been.

Pansy noticed Daphne leaving their dormitory, and she hurried to follow her. They walked in silence to the Great Hall. Upon reaching it, Daphne asked, "What do you plan on doing?"

Pansy paused at the entrance to the hall, surveying the crowd for something. Daphne followed her gaze. "You can't be serious."

"I am, Daphne. Draco may not have been able to curtail Potter's influence and damage his reputation, but perhaps I can succeed where he failed."

"You're crazy."

Pansy ignored her, striding quickly over to where Harry Potter and his friends were sitting. It was time to show him that his free reign in this school was coming to an end. He had murdered Draco, and convinced of this fact, it was only a matter of time before she would be able to make this clear to the rest of the school.

"Potter," she said.

He turned around to face the person. "Parkinson? What are you doing over here?"

"You should know very well, Potter. You may be the hero of Gryffindor and the rest of this school, but I know," she said, pointing at herself, "what you did, and have no intention of letting you get away with it."

She walked back to the Slytherin table and sat down next to a group of first years.

"Pansy?"

"What is it?" she said, irritated, and unable to remember the name of the child speaking to her.

"How did Draco die?"

"I don't know for sure…"

"Stacey." Stacey supplied.

"I don't know for sure, Stacey. But I have my suspicions."

"What are they?"

With a smile, Pansy Parkinson leaned over and told the group of first years exactly what those suspicions were.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

By dinner time, rumors concerning Malfoy's disappearance were flying throughout the school, with theories ranging from the mundane to outrageous. One hour, Malfoy was in the hospital wing with a bad cold, and the next he was in St. Mungo's, being the victim of a centaur mauling. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were on their way down to dinner when they discovered another, more sinister, theory.

"Um…Harry…Mr. Potter, sir," said a young Hufflepuff who had stopped them on a staircase.

"Yes?"

"I was just wondering if it's true."

Confusion etched itself onto Harry's face. "What are you talking about?"

The Hufflepuff began to look scared. "If it was true that you killed Malfoy."

Harry sighed. He hadn't really considered the possibility Malfoy may have been dead, but he should have figured with Malfoy being involved in something, his name would inevitably get dragged into it.

"Where did you hear this?"

"A friend of a friend who has a cousin in Slytherin."

Harry sighed. "Of course they're coming from Slytherin," he said, more or less to himself. "No, I didn't kill him. I didn't even know that he was dead."

The three of them watched him scamper off down the stairs.

"Come on," said Ron, after a moment. "This is nothing new from the Slytherins, let's get down to dinner."

Harry, Ron and Hermione entered the dimly lit Great Hall, surprised to find the walls covered with black hangings and candlelight obscured by a gauzy black material. The three looked confusedly at each other before making their way over to their customary seats at the Gryffindor table, keenly aware that the eyes of the entire school were upon them.

"Yes, well, now that everyone is here," said Dumbledore from his place at the head table, looking pointedly at the three of them, "I have some terrible news for all of you." He paused, taking a drink of water. "Draco Malfoy was murdered last night. We do not know who, but know this: no student in this school is a suspect at this time. Mr. Malfoy's murderer will be brought to justice, but distrust and alienation of each other will get us no closer to finding the killer." The sound in the hall, which had started out as a loud muttering, begin to reach a crescendo, when Dumbledore raised his hand, "If anyone has any information, any at all, that could possibly help us find Mr. Malfoy's assailant, the staff and myself will ensure your protection. But for now…"

He was interrupted by a frenzied shout that rang from the Slytherin table.

"Potter did it! I know it, you know it; we all know it."

Dumbledore sighed, looking over in Snape's direction. "Professor Snape, please escort Ms. Parkinson to the hospital wing. It appears that she could use a dose of Calming Draught."

Snape bowed his head. "Of course, Headmaster."

Dumbledore was silent as he, and the rest of the school, watched an exasperated looking Snape drag a protesting Pansy Parkinson from the Great Hall, her shouts continuing to echo even after she was gone.

"As you can plainly see, this is a trying time for all of Hogwarts, but it is no time for finger-pointing. Baseless accusations formed from enmity and suspicions do us no good. It is a time for us to come together as one and support each other through these difficult times." He cleared his throat. "But alas, the words of an old man can provide only limited reassurance and consolation; it is up to you to do that for each other. If you wish to talk to any of the Professors, including myself, we shall be here for you. Now, with that being said, I leave you all to your meal."

Dumbledore sat down amidst the silence of the student body. It was as if a spell had fallen across the Great Hall, preventing anyone from moving or making any noise whatsoever. The Professors had their heads bowed; most of the students were looking around aimlessly, unable to grasp the enormity of what had taken place in their beloved school. This went on until one intrepid soul was willing to speak out.

"So," said Ron, letting out a deep breath, "let's eat."

"How exactly can you be hungry? Dumbledore just announced that someone in Hogwarts is a murderer, and all you can think about is food? You do know what this means, don't you?" said Hermione, amidst the quiet clinking of plates and silverware.

"Malfoy's dead and now everyone thinks that Harry is a murderer. We go through a similar situation almost every year."

"How can you take this so lightly? It's…"

Harry cut her off. "He has a point, Hermione. There's something dangerous happening at school this year and it more likely than not revolves around me. The only difference to years past is that somebody is dead. It's nothing we haven't had to face before."

"But, Harry…"

"No, Hermione. Not now." Harry turned towards Ron. "Could you pass the potatoes?"

With Harry putting an end to all further conversation, the three of them settled down into an uneasy silence, listening to the low murmur of voices and the gentle noise of a quiet dinner filled the cavernous Great Hall. The eerie light given off by the covered candles served to heighten the tense atmosphere which had blanketed the school.

"Harry?"

He turned towards the source of the voice. "What is it, Ginny?"

She seemed unsure of what she wanted to say, stumbling over her words several times. "I just wanted to say that I…that I don't think you're a murderer."

"Thanks, Ginny. That means a lot to me," said Harry, giving her a small smile, which she returned.

Glad for her support, Harry returned to his meal. It was only a matter of time before he would be at odds with the majority of the school, he thought, and the fewer people he had to convince to believe his side of the story would be a welcome change from most years. If Draco only would have had the good grace to have died a slow death, with enough time to identify his killer, a lot of trouble would have been saved; even in death Malfoy continued to be a thorn in his side.

"Come on, Harry. We can't sit here all night," said Ron, breaking Harry from his reverie. "Fancy a game of chess or something?"

Harry looked up from his still mostly full plate. "Sure, Ron," he said, standing up from the table. "Nothing takes my mind off of something like a good trouncing."

The two of them walked out of the hall, giving Hermione a small wave, as she was engrossed in discussion with Padma Patil about some Arithmancy equation, a conversation that could go on for hours. Idle chatter passed between the two of them on the way back to Gryffindor Tower, trying to stay as far away from the issue of Malfoy's murder as they could for the moment. Despite their best efforts, this proved to be impossible.

"Harry? Mr. Potter, sir?" said a small voice from behind them.

They turned, eyeing the speaker, a small boy in robes with a Hufflepuff crest. "And who would you be?" asked Ron in an accusatory tone.

"My name is Isaac. Isaac Brock. I just wanted to say that I know that Mr. Potter didn't kill Malfoy."

Ron snorted. "I think that much was obvious."

"Hold on, Ron," said Harry. "Why do you think that?"

He looked around, nervously. "Trust me, I _know_ you aren't the one who killed him."

"What do you mean?"

He fidgeted. "I can't talk here, he might be watching. Here," he said, handing a piece of parchment to Harry. "Meet me there at that time and I'll tell you what I know."

"Alright," said Harry. "I'll be there."

The boy nodded and sprinted away down the stairs.

"Well that was odd," said Ron. "What do you think?"

Harry opened the piece of parchment, noted the place and time, and slipped it into his robes. "I think we go and meet him."

* * *

><p>Pansy was left to lay in the hospital wing alone while Snape returned to dinner, trapped in the muddled haze that were her thoughts due to the Calming Draught that she had reluctantly imbibed. She was not quite sure what had provoked the outburst in the Great Hall, but the more she thought about it, the more she regretted having allowed herself such an open display of emotion. A campaign to permanently sully Potter's reputation would be all the more difficult now that all suspicion would be immediately directed towards her. Any further musings were interrupted by an all too familiar presence entering the room.<p>

"Hello, Professor Snape."

Snape pulled up a chair next to her bedside. "What exactly were you thinking, publicly accusing Potter? You should know better than that by now."

"I know, Professor. But…"

"But nothing," Snape said, standing to pace in front of Pansy's bed. "Your outburst must be turned to our advantage, lest we allow it to become an encumbrance that could have easily been avoided."

"Professor?"

"I think we need to let the school know of some of the relationship between you and Draco."

Pansy gasped. "Surely you can't be serious, Professor. You know how important it was to Draco to keep that a secret."

"I know, Pansy, but we have no other choice, unless you prefer having no recourse while Potter runs roughshod over the school. Releasing this information makes you appear not as consumed with blind hatred of Potter and more of a grieving widow."

"But, Professor, we weren't…"

"I know perfectly well you weren't married, but that doesn't mean the death of your once prospective husband wouldn't evoke sympathy from the student body. It may not accomplish much, but it should at least mitigate some of the damage your comments caused."

"I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything. Just go along with it, otherwise you will have no hope of containing the influence of Potter and his friends. That is what you want, isn't it?"

"Yes, Professor." Pansy paused, unsure what to say next. "What do we do about the Dark Lord's plan now that Draco is dead?"

Snape looked around the Hospital Wing, turning to glare at Pansy. "Shut up, you foolish girl. We are in the Hospital Wing, anybody could be listening. I will summon you in the coming days once I have my directives from the Dark Lord. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now is there anything else you wish to discuss? I have an appointment with the Headmaster."

"That old…"

"It would do you good to respect Dumbledore. He may be a doddering old fool in his ideals, but he is still an intelligent wizard whose power rivals the Dark Lord. His methods may be less violent, but he can deal you just as much harm."

"But I don't have to like it."

"No," Snape said, a ghost of a smile crossing his face, "You don't have to like it." He looked at his watch. "I really must be off. You can spend the night here, but when you get down to breakfast tomorrow morning; begin to spread what we just discussed in whichever way that you see fit. Goodnight, Pansy."

Snape left the hospital wing, leaving Pansy alone in the silent room, the only sound coming from the ticking of a clock on the wall. It was a bold move, Pansy thought, leaking that kind of information about herself to the school, especially after being taught almost all her life that the more secrets she kept about herself, the safer she would be. Potter killing Draco had been a bold move, though, and it would take an equally bold move on her part to put Potter in a position where he would have to pay for what he did. It was only a matter of time.

* * *

><p>Pansy walked down to breakfast the next day, trying to avoid the eyes of the school that she knew were upon her. She spotted Daphne in their usual spot at the table, and settled down next to her, immediately reaching for the plate of eggs that lay in front of her.<p>

"Hungry, are we?" asked Daphne.

"Famished."

They ate in silence. Pansy knew it was only a matter of time before she would have to talk to Daphne about her outburst, but she chewed her food as slowly as possible, hoping to prolong that conversation until a later date.

"Alright, Pansy, enough. What happened last night?"

"Nothing. I was just a little upset."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "A little upset? Come on, Pansy, don't be ridiculous. I'm your best friend, you can tell me."

"Yes, Parkinson, please enlighten us," said the smug voice of Blaise Zabini, who was sitting a few seats down and across the table from the two of them.

"Damn it, Zabini, why are you always hanging around? Get out of here," said Pansy, glaring across the table at Zabini's unwelcome visage.

"I don't know, Parkinson. Perhaps it's your vehement dislike for someone who has never done anything to you? I'm not particularly fond of Potter, but it's not as if I hate him," he paused, pretending to inspect his nails. "Do you blame him for the loss of Malfoy?"

"Draco and I…"

"Now it's Draco? You've come a long way since fourth year, Parkinson." He made a show of checking his watch. "But alas, I'm afraid I must bring this to a close. It was a pleasure, Parkinson."

He stood from the bench, and after an over exaggerated bow, he left.

"Pansy?" asked Daphne. "What was that about?"

It had been a long time since her clash with Draco after the Yule Ball. She had been unable to tolerate his grandstanding and inattention to her despite them both knowing that it was only a matter of time before their fathers struck a deal for their eventual engagement. They had both been young, immature, and unable to grasp what exactly an agreement of that nature would mean.

"Pansy?"

"It's a long story, Daphne. Not exactly one we have time for at the moment. I'll tell you later, ok?"

She looked suspicious. "I'm only letting you off the hook now because we really do need to get to class. You will tell me later though, right?"

"Promise."

* * *

><p>"Harry? What are you looking at?" asked Ron between bites of sausage.<p>

"The Slytherins."

"Give it up, Harry. Malfoy is dead. Anybody left isn't going to pose any real threat to you. Nobody in that house has proven themselves competent enough to be able to seek revenge beyond a few jinxes."

"What about Parkinson? She seemed pretty bent on revenge last night."

"Malfoy ran Slytherin, and even then was never really a serious concern to us. If Malfoy wasn't dangerous, how can you expect his minions to be?"

"I don't know, Ron, but I still have a bad feeling about this," said Harry, returning his gaze to the Slytherin table and taking in the sight of Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass speaking with Blaise Zabini. "Right now, Parkinson, Greengrass, and Zabini could be plotting to poison the two of you and take me to Voldemort."

"Or they could be discussing the weather," said Hermione, looking up from her newspaper to join their conversation. "Really, Harry, you need to relax. At the rate you're going, you'll give yourself a heart attack before You-Know-Who has a chance to make his move."

"Come on, mate. Eat some breakfast and forget about it for now. If Parkinson does get it into her head that she needs to avenge Malfoy's death, I'm sure we'll hear about it and be able to stop it before anything serious happens."

"But Ron…"

"No, Harry," said Hermione. "Malfoy is gone. There are no other impending threats within the school at the moment."

"Except whoever killed Malfoy, that is," amended Ron, stabbing another sausage with cheerful unconcern.

"What do you mean, 'Whoever killed Malfoy?'" asked Harry.

"Dumbledore never really said what killed him, now did he? And then there was that kid last night."

Harry realized Ron was right, Dumbledore hadn't told the school how Malfoy had died. That would explain Parkinson's outburst and the strange behavior of Isaac last night. The thought of a murderer inside of Hogwarts' was ludicrous though. Dumbledore would never allow someone, or _something_, capable of doing harm to the student body to have run of his school. Harry couldn't stop himself from thinking that perhaps the Headmaster had started to grow old, and when he turned to look up at Dumbledore eating breakfast and talking with Flitwick at the staff table, rather than calming his fears, one look at his blackened hand only served to reinforce his doubts.

"Harry?" came Hermione's voice, rousing him from his thoughts.

"But who could have murdered a student under Dumbledore's nose? A Death Eater?"

"As bold as Voldemort can be, I don't see him trying to plant a Death Enter right under Dumbledore's nose," said Hermione, and taking in Harry's look of disbelief she added, "And no, Harry, Malfoy was not a Death Eater."

Ron cut off Harry before he had a chance to start another argument. "Dumbledore didn't know about the basilisk or the Chamber of Secrets."

Hermione looked skeptical. "Are you saying there's another basilisk running amok in the school, Ron?"

"No. All I'm saying is it's possible for things to go on in this place without Dumbledore knowing about them."

"Ron…"

Harry was interrupted by Hermione. "Look at the time! Transfiguration starts in ten minutes and you both know how McGonagall gets when we stride into the classroom right on time."

With only a minimum of grumbling, Ron and Harry stood to follow Hermione out of the Great Hall. Walking towards the exit, a familiar face appeared.

"Hello, Isaac," said Hermione.

Isaac, instead of answering, let out a strangled shriek and scampered off, quickly blending into the mass of students making their way to class.

"What are you doing, Hermione? Are you trying to get him killed?" asked Harry, exasperated.

"Nobody is going to kill anybody."

"Then why is Draco Malfoy dead? Why are there second years we don't know approaching us with information? Do you think this is some kind of hoax? Dumbledore's idea of a midterm joke?"

"No, Harry, of course not…"

He watched Isaac turn a corner and disappear. He was baffled by the boy's reaction to Hermione's greeting. He had figured that the meeting with the boy would be little more than him telling a story about how he heard a thump and a scream or something equally vague, but the way the boy scampered away from them had piqued Harry's interest. Hopefully, Harry's mention of the possibility of Isaac's death was only a fantasy.

Harry blew a breath out of his nose. "Whatever. It's over now. Let's go."

The day that followed was a typical one, almost if nobody had been murdered at all. McGonagall, just as Hermione had predicted, was none too pleased about their late arrival. There was the normal amount of muttering during lunch. The walk out to Hagrid's cabin for Care of Magical Creatures was a pleasant respite from the confines of the suddenly suffocating aura of the castle, but on the walk back, the apparent return to normalcy was spoiled by a familiar face.

"…that's why he has to die," said Pansy Parkinson, as her and Daphne Greengrass hurried past the three of them.

Harry turned to the others. "Please tell me I wasn't the only one to hear that."

Hermione sighed. "No, Harry, you weren't."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Harry walked off, trying to catch up with them.

"Are you suggesting with Malfoy dead, we need to start following another Slytherin?" asked Ron, hurrying to follow Harry. "This better be worth it."

"She said someone had to die. Isn't that reason enough? Now shut up before you attract their attention."

The three of them trailed a safe distance behind Pansy and Daphne as they walked swiftly across the Hogwarts grounds, moving towards the lake. When they reached the lake and started along the path around it, with Harry, Ron, and Hermione not far behind, they ducked into a small copse of underbrush not far off the path. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, slowed their pace and hoping for the continued ignorance of their presence by Pansy and Daphne, walked past them, trying to catch a few snatches of the conversation.

"The Dark Lord sent me a message…where Draco left off." Some of Pansy's words were inaudible over the sound of the trees in the autumn wind.

"….what?" They could only hear the end of Daphne's response due to the noise.

There was a pause. "I'm supposed to kill Dumbledore and Potter."

They all stopped to look at each other, and then quickly turned to make their way back towards the castle, trying to avoid being seen. Once they had emerged from the trees at the edge of the lake and were at safe distance from Pansy and Daphne, Hermione turned to the two of them, eyes wide, and said, "When are you supposed to meet Isaac?"

"Friday evening."

"Three days from now," said Hermione, mostly to herself. "That should give us enough time."

"For what?" asked Ron.

"You'll find out soon enough."

* * *

><p>"Gogol is a terrible keeper and is the reason the Russian National Team doesn't stand a chance in international play. That's why he has to die."<p>

Daphne shook her head. "I still don't understand why you root for Russia. You're English."

"So what? At least Russia wins, unlike England."

"Whatever." Daphne glanced behind them. "Potter and his friends are following us."

"I know," said Pansy. "Let's head over to that little clearing on the shore of the lake I showed you last year."

"But won't they over hear us?"

"I want them to."

The two of them walked in the direction of the lake, careful to make sure they stayed in sight of their pursuers. They hurried to the spot Pansy had mentioned earlier, carefully ducking under a tangle of brush to find a small open clearing obscured by low hanging branches in front of them and a thick copse of trees behind. Despite the slightly eerie feeling of being enclosed in the darkness and enveloped by the almost constant rustling of leaves, it had served Pansy well the last few years.

"Can you see them?" Pansy whispered to Daphne.

"They're just coming around the bend now. So what's the deal with…"

"The Dark Lord sent me a message last night. I'm supposed to take up where Draco left off," Pansy said, louder than she needed to.

"Pansy, what?"

"Yeah, I'm supposed to kill Dumbledore and bring Potter to our Lord," Pansy said in that same loud voice, but this time with a significant glance at Daphne.

Recognition dawned on Daphne's face. "How does he want you to do that?

"I'm not sure yet. He said he'd send further instructions in the coming days. Whatever our Lord comes up with is sure to accomplish the job though."

"What about his friends?"

"I don't…" Pansy trailed off, looking out onto the path. "Alright, they're gone. Do you think they bought it?"

"Without a doubt," said Daphne, chuckling. "Potter will believe anything that has to do with Malfoy being in the Dark Lord's service." She paused. "That wasn't actually true, was it?"

"No, not at all. Just wanted to scare them a little bit."

They sat in silence for a moment. Neither wanted to speak first, but both had something to say.

"So, Pansy, what was the deal with you and Draco? He was good-looking, rich, and influential, but he was kind of a prick."

"I suppose he did come off as a prick sometimes," Pansy said, mostly to herself. She took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts. "We were supposed to marry each other. Our fathers saw it as a suitable match, bringing together wealth and power. Draco and I were pretty upset to begin with, but as the date grew nearer and the inevitability of the union grew more persuasive, we resolved to make the best of it. I wouldn't say we were in love, but I feel confident saying we were cautiously optimistic in what the future had in store for us."

"Wow."

Pansy looked away, surreptitiously wiping a tear from her eye. Daphne stepped closer to Pansy, resting a hand on her shoulder. After a moment, Pansy stepped fully into her embrace, letting herself go. Her tears were those of pain and loss, grief and longing; of remembrance and fondness, for days gone by and days that would never be. For the first time since she was ten, she allowed sorrow to consume her. Daphne held her, giving her friend what support she could. They stood there, long after Pansy's tears had stopped, the ecstasy of emotion overwhelming the two Slytherins. The encroaching darkness accompanied by the whispering of the wind in the tree branches and the slow descent of the last few autumn leaves played the perfect accompaniment to the sadness of the two: Pansy for Draco's loss, Daphne for the future Pansy would never have. Twilight engulfed them by the time they had collected themselves.

"Feel better?" asked Daphne, handing her friend a handkerchief she produced from the inside of her robes.

"Much," said Pansy, wiping her face and eyes, eyes that refused to meet Daphne's.

"It's alright, Pansy. I'd imagine that if I had lost someone like Draco was to you, I'd be in a similar state. There's nothing to be embarrassed about."

Pansy gave Daphne a weak smile, one that Daphne returned. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "Thanks, Daphne."

"What are friends for?" said Daphne. "Let's start our way back to the castle, Potter and his friends are long gone, and I'm hungry. I suppose we missed dinner, so we'll have to see if we have any snacks stashed in our trunks."

"Why don't we just go down to the kitchens?" At Daphne's look, Pansy laughed and said, "What? Potter and his friends aren't the only ones who know how to get into there."

Daphne shook her head. "Whatever. As long as there's hot food and drink I don't care if we have to murder a mountain troll. Lead the way," Daphne said, gesturing towards the castle.


	3. Chapter 3

**Three**

A few days passed with little to show for them. Malfoy's murder had begun to fade from the school's collective consciousness, with more important issues like homework and gossip returning to the forefront. Harry and Ron were sitting in the common room after dinner, waiting for Hermione to appear. She had sped off after she ate, waving away their questions with vague and evasive answers. What made it all the more concerning was her odd behavior throughout the day.

"Where do you think Hermione is?" asked Ron, voicing the question on both of their minds.

"I don't know," said Harry. "But I'm sure with the way she was acting today, it's something important."

"It is," said a breathless Hermione, who had just appeared from the portrait hole.

"Well, what is it?" asked Harry, speaking into the silent common room.

"A package."

"And why couldn't you just get that at breakfast? We have post for a reason." Ron said, careful to make sure that no one was within earshot.

"I know that, Ron," Hermoine answered, rolling her eyes. "But I couldn't take a chance on having this one seen by anyone. I had to call in a few favors for this, and it wouldn't do well to have it taken away before it could be used."

"Why? What is it?" asked Harry.

"Polyjuice. Tonks sent it to me."

Ron nearly jumped out of his chair. "Polyjuice? Are you crazy, Hermione?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "I think it'd be worth it to give it another shot. After all, we did overhear Parkinson and Greengrass talking about killing you and Dumbledore."

"But we're not second years anymore, Hermione," said Harry, "I'd think they see right through that ruse."

"I still think it's worth a shot," answered Hermione, coming over to sit in an empty chair, "We stun a couple of Slytherins, make our way down to the dungeons and see if we can get anything out of either of them."

"I don't like this, Hermione. It's a lot more dangerous this time around and if Parkinson is really serious about killing me it wouldn't exactly be smart to walk right into her grasp, would it?"

"But, Harry…"

Ron interrupted her. "What if we wait until after we talk to Isaac tomorrow night? It'd probably be a better use of our time if we ascertained whether we really needed to go after Parkinson or not. She could just be a flunkie with delusions of grandeur."

"Ron's right, Hermione. We might as well see what Isaac has to say first. It's only an extra day."

Hermione paused to consider what Ron had said. "I suppose you're right. But no matter what he tells us, this Polyjuice will be used for something." A note of finality in her voice brought their conversation to a close.

Near silence engulfed Gryffindor Tower, the only sound coming from the crackling of the logs in the fireplace. They sat lost in their own thoughts for a few minutes until Hermione went up to bed without saying a word, Ron following shortly afterwards.

"What do I do?" Harry asked the silent room.

There was no love lost between Harry and Draco Malfoy, but he still wrestled with the fact that he felt somewhat responsible for finding Malfoy's killer, if only to make sure the school was safe for everyone else. As he went up to bed, he couldn't stop the little voice in the back of his head from saying, _"…and to make sure you're not next."_

* * *

><p>Pansy looked around Snape's personal office, the location of it known only to the students of Slytherin. Contrary to the one attached to the Potions classroom and maintained to scare the rest of the student body, the shelves were not filled with slimy things in jars, the walls were not bare, cold stone, and the fire place was not empty. In fact, the shelves were filled with books, the walls were covered in bright tapestries, and the fireplace was currently host to a warm, cheerful fire.<p>

"You wanted to see me, Professor?"

Snape looked up from the papers on his desk. "Yes. Please, take a seat," he said, gesturing at the chair in front of him. "Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thank you, Sir."

They sat in silence for a few moments. Snape broke the silence first.

"I suppose you're wondering why I asked you here, Ms. Parkinson?

"Does this have to do with Draco's death? Or is it something else?"

"Both, actually. But first, I wanted to inquire as to how you were feeling?"

Pansy paused, considering her words. "I'm doing…better, Professor. Draco meant a lot to me, and it'll be tough getting used to the idea of him not being there. But I'm feeling excited as well."

Snape raised his eyebrows.

Pansy let loose a quiet little chuckle. "Yes, I suppose that does sound kind of odd, considering my future husband recently died. Then again, I didn't really get to choose him, did I? Sure, it was looking more and more like we would maybe be able to have a wonderful relationship, but that doesn't change the fact we were forced into it in the first place, now does it?"

"No, I suppose not," said Snape. "How do you feel about the future now?"

"I look forward to it, to be honest. Draco's loss still hurts, and I imagine it will continue to hurt for quite some time, but now I'm free to choose my own future. Freedom of choice is not something I've had a lot of in my life, Professor Snape."

"Your father isn't planning on finding another marriage contract for you?"

"I hope not. He said that he received grief from Mother over this to never try it again. The Malfoys are one of the few families where a marriage would stand to benefit us, anyway." Pansy looked at Snape. "Despite this ordeal, my father does genuinely care about my happiness, Professor."

"I was merely suggesting…"

Pansy interrupted him. "Of course the 10,000 galleon payout Father received from the Malfoy's for breaking the agreement helped out that matter to rest as well. I can't imagine Lucius will be too happy to find out about this once he gets out of Azkaban."

"No, I don't imagine he will," muttered Snape, darkly. "Anyway, I'm glad to see you're working through your way through this."

"Daphne has helped me a ton."

"That's good to hear," he said, a slight smile hovering around the corners of his mouth. "Would you like to help find Draco's murderer?"

Taking the abrupt change of subject in stride, she replied, "Yes, of course. What can I do?"

Snape pushed himself up from his desk and began pacing back and forth across from Pansy.

"I hate to burden you with this, but it could be crucial to finding the murderer. Draco was working on something for the Dark Lord when he was murdered. I want you to continue this work, or," he said, taking in the look on Pansy's face, "at least give the appearance that you are."

"Professor?" asked Pansy, visibly paled.

"It's a lot to ask, Pansy, I know. But if the reason he was murdered was because of the Dark Lord's plans, this could draw the murderer out in the open. Besides, the Dark Lord would be pleased if you take it upon yourself to complete Draco's task."

"I don't know what to say, Professor."

"Don't say anything, Pansy. You only need to give a convincing performance if you do not wish to actually go through with it."

Pansy, took a deep breath, steadying herself. "I want to do it, Professor. I want to find Draco's killer, and I want to assist the Dark Lord."

Snape stopped his pacing. "Are you absolutely certain?"

"Yes," she replied, her voice filled with conviction.

Snape bent over, and removed a book from one of the drawers in his desk.

"I was able to recover this from Draco's belongings before the Headmaster and Narcissa got a hold of them. These are his notes on the project. It appeared to me that he had a pretty good start, so the foundations should already be laid for you to continue."

"What exactly will I be doing, Professor?"

"Fixing a device that will allow the Dark Lord's servants to infiltrate the school. I know little more than that, as the Dark Lord did not wish me to be privy to the specifics of this particular plan."

"But how…?"

"I was made aware of the generalities, of course, but I believe it was the Dark Lord's wish for the specifics to be known only to Draco. You know how he operates."

Pansy bowed her head in acknowledgment. "It will take me a few days to go through these notes, but I should be ready to begin by the end of next week or so. Will you be available for assistance, Sir?"

"The Dark Lord has already given me his permission to aid you in anyway I can. I am at your disposal, Ms. Parkinson."

"Thank you, Sir." She glanced at her watch. "I should probably head back to the Common Room. It's getting late, and I still have a Transfiguration essay to finish."

"Of course Ms. Parkinson, it is vital we do not allow the school to catch wind of your project, and we must keep up appearances as much as it is possible. You are dismissed."

She stood and walked towards the door, pausing only to wish Snape good night. She flipped through the pages of Draco's notes on the way back to the common room, growing more worried by the moment. It was an exceedingly complex project, and she wouldn't be able to take as many liberties Draco had in trying to fix this vanishing cabinet thing, unless she wanted to end up just like him. As she gave the password to enter the dungeons, she couldn't help but wonder what exactly she had gotten herself into.

* * *

><p>"Alright, this is where he told us to meet him."<p>

"Are you sure, Harry? I think we might be the first ones to step foot in this classroom in about fifteen years." Hermione queried, casting a few rudimentary privacy charms as she surveyed the room.

"I'm sure," he said.

They were currently standing in a dusty classroom they never knew existed. Each movement, no matter how slight, sent a cloud of dust into the air, and each subsequent sneeze only exacerbated the problem.

"This kid needs to hurry up, otherwise we're all going to suffocate."

The door was opened by a small figure, who closed it upon entering.

"I'm here, Mr. Weasley."

"Alright, good," said Harry, who turned to face Isaac. "What do you have for us?"

Isaac fidgeted.

"What's wrong Isaac?" asked Hermione. "There's nobody here to overhear us, I made sure of that."

"Are you sure?" asked the boy. "He said he'd know if I talked, but I just had to tell somebody."

"Who told you this? Who killed Malfoy?" asked Harry.

When Isaac once again hesitated in answering, Ron spoke up.

"He's obviously not going to help us catch the murderer and keep the school safe." Ron crossed the room to the door, and with a dirty look at Isaac, made to leave.

"Wait, wait," Isaac said, panic in his voice. "I'll talk."

With a glare at Ron, Hermione asked in a gentle voice, "What happened, Isaac?"

Taking a deep breath, Isaac launched into his tale.

"I was walking back from meeting with Professor Flitwick about a question I had on one of my Charms assignments, when I decided to take a quick detour down to the kitchens to grab a snack…"

"I thought we were the only ones in the school who knew how to get in there," said Harry.

"You and your friends aren't the only ones, Mr. Potter. Practically half the school knows. Anyway, I was on my way down to the kitchens when I heard a really loud crash and a muffled sort of shout or grunt or something, so I figured I'd go and see if somebody dropped something and need help. But when I reached the room where I heard the noise, there was a really loud scream, and someone came bursting out of the room. He looked at me and…and…"

Isaac stopped, seemingly unable to continue until Hermione coaxed him into doing so.

"And he was carrying a bloody knife, and he looked at me, and said, 'If you ever tell anyone about this, I will know, and I will kill you.'"

"Who was it, Isaac?"

"It looked like Professor Snape."

They watched him leave. Harry turned to the other two in the room.

"What do you think?"

"I think he was telling the truth…" started Hermione.

"Then what are we waiting for?" burst out Ron. "Let's get Snape."

Hermione huffed impatiently. "Let me finish, Ron." Ron had the good grace to look abashed. "As I was saying, I think he was telling the truth…_as he saw it_."

"Hermione?"

"It's not exactly hard for a wizard to alter his or her appearance, now is it? It could have just as easily been Dumbledore under a glamour or dose of Polyjuice as it was Professor Snape."

"You're not seriously suggesting…"

"No, Harry, I don't think Dumbledore killed Malfoy. I was merely stating…"

"Snape is as good a suspect as any," said Ron. "Malfoy trusted him, Dumbledore trusted him, and he's a giant piece of…"

"I have a meeting with Dumbledore tomorrow evening. I'll talk to him about it then. Is that alright?"

Both Hermione and Ron murmured their assent, albeit reluctantly on Ron's part. Amid mumblings decrying Snape's manhood and Dumbledore's judgment, the three of them made their way back to Gryffindor Tower through the darkened corridors.

"Hey, stop for a moment, would you?" said Harry, who had fallen behind the others. "I think this might have been where Malfoy was murdered."

"Where? In that room?" Hermione said, coming to stand next to Harry. "I doubt it. I'm sure Dumbledore would have found a way to prevent students from finding it."

"But there's blood on the floor," said Ron, stepping into the room.

"Doesn't it seem odd they haven't cleaned it up yet? I'm not sure how exactly the Aurors investigate crimes like this, but you'd think the professors wouldn't want this just left here."

"Aurors rarely deal with crimes committed by Muggle methods," said Ron. "I'm sure they left it here just in case they need to come back to it."

Harry took note of the blood splattered on the walls and floor, and the seeming jumble of chairs and tables that had been thrown askew. "Wouldn't they have to worry about people stumbling on the scene and contaminating it?"

"Like you three?" A voice said from behind them.

They all jumped.

"Get out of here. All of you. Wouldn't want me to bring the Headmaster down here, would you?"

The three of them scampered out of the room under the hateful glare of Argus Filch, not stopping until they had reached the Fat Lady. Ignoring her comments about the lateness of the hour and their "dreadful appearance" they pushed their way into the safety of the common room.

"What do you think Filch was doing down there?" asked Ron.

"I'm sure he was just out patrolling. I swear, that man never sleeps," said Hermione.

"Yeah, we should have expected something like that happening. We have an Invisibility Cloak for a reason," added Harry.

"Alright then," said Ron, making his way over to the dormitory stairs, "I'm heading up to bed." He left.

"What do you think, Hermione?"

"I think something suspicious is definitely going on." She yawned. "But Ron is right. We don't have a lot to go on just yet, and there's not much else we can do tonight." She too went for the stairs. "Good night, Harry. Don't stay up worrying about this too late. We haven't proven unable to save the day yet."

Harry collapsed into a sofa facing the slowly dying fire. With mind occupied by thoughts of murder, blood, and Malfoy, he dropped into a fitful rest.

* * *

><p>"You wanted to see me, Professor?"<p>

After dinner, Harry had made his way to Dumbledore's office for another one of their "lessons," though Harry still continued to doubt the importance of learning Voldemort's past. It was interesting, but he failed to see how it held the key to defeating him, unless Dumbledore planned on Harry lecturing him to death.

"Yes, Harry. Please," he said, and with a flourish of his hand, pushed a chair out from his desk, "have a seat."

"Very nice, Sir." Harry sat down.

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "It was just the other morning that I sent a second year student into a polemic of astounding length over my ability to do 'cool things.' How you all grow." He took a deep breath. "But to business, Harry. I had a lesson lined up for you, but I have a feeling that you have something you wish to discuss with me?"

"Yes, Professor. About, Malfoy's murder…"

"Dreadful ordeal that. We are no closer to finding out who killed Mr. Malfoy, but I assure you, Harry, I will not allow your name to be dragged through the mud over this. I know you and Mr. Malfoy and your differences, but it shouldn't be used as a platform for your detractors to start a petty vendetta against you and your friends."

Harry shifted in his seat. "Thank you, Sir. But actually, I think I may have an idea of where to start looking for the killer."

Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair, peering intently over the frames of his glasses at Harry.

Harry cleared his throat. "Ron, Hermione, and I met with someone who claimed to have witnessed the murder, and the murderer himself."

"How did you find this person, Harry?"

"He approached us after breakfast one day, saying that he had important information to tell us about Malfoy's death. We met him just last night." Harry paused, until Dumbledore motioned him to continue. Still hesitant, he said, "Well, he said he saw Snape come out of the room, covered in blood, and when Snape saw him he said he'd kill him."

Dumbledore frowned. "I find it very hard to believe Professor Snape could have been present at the scene of the crime."

"I know you trust him, Professor, but…"

"No, I mean it would have been impossible, unless Professor Snape has mastered the ability to be in two places at once. You see, Professor Snape was with me all of Sunday evening. We went down to Mr. Malfoy together after Argus alerted us to it."

"But, how…?"

"I assure you that Professor Snape was with me that evening, Harry, so it must have been an impostor," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair. "That has always been a problem with investigating crimes in the Wizarding World, it's extremely easy to cover your tracks. Fortunately for us, criminals generally tend to not be the most intelligent among us, but it looks like this one was thinking ahead."

"Sir?"

"A school like Hogwarts gives virtually unfettered access to one of the largest reserves of magical resources in the world. It would not be hard for a wizard of even marginal skill to gain access to something that would provide the means to alter one's appearance."

"But I would imagine the only person in the school with something like Polyjuice on hand would be Professor Snape," Harry said, adding silently, "_and Hermione._"

"I assure you, Harry, that Professor Snape's stores are secure, and anybody who would deign to breach the protections would be in for a nasty surprise. Besides," Dumbledore continued, "there are many more ways than Polyjuice for a wizard to change his appearance."

They both sat in silent contemplation for a few moments. Harry was unable to shake the feeling that Snape was involved in this somehow. Even if he wasn't the one holding the knife, he could have provided Polyjuice and the requisite hair. How else would someone be able to create such a convincing double, thought Harry, unless…

"Tonks," Harry said, breaking the silence.

Dumbledore peered over his glasses. "You think Miss Tonks is involved."

"No, no, not her. But maybe another Metamorphmagus?"

"I have my doubts, Harry. There are precious few of them as there is, and I doubt there is one out there with a grudge against Malfoy and also possessing the ability to break through Hogwarts' protections. A glamour would be enough to obscure the killer's face. Your informant could have been mistaken."

"I don't know, Sir. He seemed pretty sure."

Dumbledore stood, crossing over to his bookshelf. "Be that as it may, we have very little to go on. In the meanwhile I want you, Ron, and Hermione, to continue to watch and listen for anything that may be important to finding Mr. Malfoy's assailant." Dumbledore turned, and faced Harry with a twinkle in his eye. "I regret asking you to do this, but it seems like no one gets results quite like the three of you."

"Of course, Professor. Is there anything else for tonight?"

Dumbledore handed Harry a book. "I want you to read this before our next meeting, which should be in a week or two. Good night, Harry."

"Good night, Sir."

* * *

><p>It had been a long three days since her meeting with Professor Snape, and Pansy was growing restless. Draco's notes revealed little about the item itself, and even if they had, she had no idea where to begin looking for it. Even in death Draco managed to be frustrating, just as he had in life.<p>

_They were sitting in front of the fire, long since burned low. The Slytherin Common Room had long begun to grow cold, but Pansy had not. Draco had made sure of that. They had been sitting there in the Common Room for nigh on three hours. As the fire died, their closeness burned, their relationship seeming to have reached a new level over the past few weeks._

"_Draco?"_

"_Mmmm…?"_

"_On those nights where you're away, where do you go?"_

"_Is it…someone else?"_

_Draco's silence seemed to confirm Pansy's fears of it being another woman. She knew mistresses weren't incredibly uncommon, especially in arranged marriages. But still, she couldn't ignore how much it would hurt._

_Draco sat silent for a few minutes, apparently considering how to answer. "It's not a someone, but a something. I can't tell you anything else at the moment." At the look on Pansy's face, he added, "It's an assignment from the Dark Lord."_

"_Is it dangerous?"_

"_It shouldn't be. Not if I succeed."_

_Pansy paused to consider this. She knew how much store he put in the Dark Lord, but his safety was of paramount importance to her. Only a few weeks ago she had come to the realization that she might not only have to, but want to, spend the rest of her life with Draco._

"_Just be careful. I know how important this must be if you can't say anything, but I don't want to lose you." A solitary tear fell unbidden from her eye._

_Draco wiped it away, kissing her on the forehead. "I promise."_

That had been only a few days before his death. Rage welled up inside of her. He was only able to keep a promise for a few days, maybe she was better off with him gone.

"What are you doing?" asked Daphne, who came and sat down beside her. "Why are you holding that quill so tightly?"

"Just some school work," said Pansy, quickly covering Draco's notes with a Potions essay she was working on. "You know how frustrating a Potions' essay can be."

Daphne gently pried the quill from Pansy's hands.

"How are you?"

"Not too bad, this stuff about the use of toadstools in antidotes is almost indecipherable, though."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "You know that's not what I'm talking about. Though, now that you mention it, I don't know how you could stand another two years of potions. That stuff is nonsensical garbage."

"You just don't have an aptitude for the subtle art of potion making," Pansy said with a smile.

Daphne hit her on the arm. "Now you sound like Snape. Really though, how are you feeling?"

"You know. Better. It still hurts, but everyday it becomes a little bit easier."

They sat in companionable silence for awhile, each scratching away on homework they had left until the last moment, looking up only to ask each other a brief question or to let out a longsuffering sigh. This continued until they were interrupted by an all too familiar voice.

"It's Parkinson and Greengrass, my two favorite people in the world."

"Shove off Zabini, we're working," said Daphne, disgust evident in her tone.

He clutched his chest. "You wound me, Greengrass. Is that how you treat a fellow Slytherin?"

"You're no Slytherin."

"I'm not?" He made a great show of checking his robes. "This sure looks like a Slytherin crest on my chest. And would you look at this? The piping is green as well. If I'm not a Slytherin, then what am I?"

Daphne seethed. "A disgrace."

"A disgrace, am I? That's not what the Dark Lord thought when he gave me Draco's assignment."

Pansy and Daphne looked at him, dumbfounded. Blaise sauntered off towards the stairs to the boy's dormitory, a satisfied smile on his face the whole way.

Pansy sat stone faced, furious. How could the Dark Lord give Zabini the same thing she was tasked with completing? Was she not trustworthy? Reliable? Diligent? Zabini was nothing but an arrogant child with a self-righteous streak a mile wide. She decided she would have to speak with Professor Snape and find out about what was going on.

"Pansy, what was he talking about?"

"An assignment from the Dark Lord."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "I had gathered that much. Why should we care?"

"Because I have the same task to complete. It was Draco's before he died, and Professor Snape said the Dark Lord wanted me to see it through."

"But why you?"

Why her? She had never stopped to consider that. She had assumed that being Draco's betrothed as well as a dedicated follower of the Dark Lord made her the natural successor. Perhaps the Dark Lord had thought Draco had made her privy to some of the details of his plan, but Zabini's assignment left her mired in doubt. Maybe the Dark Lord thought her likely to fail, and intended Zabini to see it through. Even worse, maybe he wanted her to fail.

"To be honest, Daph, I don't know."

* * *

><p>Harry was on his way back from the Headmaster's Office, his head filled with thoughts of his latest lesson. Voldemort's history was fascinating, but the Professor was doing a pretty poor job of conveying the reason for learning it. He also continued to be unsure of what the Professor had him reading the book on rituals for, its not like there was a mention of the one Voldemort used or something like that. But when he mentioned it to Dumbledore, he only said to keep reading, and look for things he thought sounded interesting. That would be great, if only he could understand more than small bits and pieces of the book.<p>

"Harry?"

Harry turned. "Luna? What are you doing out this late?"

"Snipe. I thought I finally had it in the library, but it escaped out into the castle. It could be dangerous," Luna said very seriously, as this was a dire situation Harry couldn't afford to ignore.

"I'm sure the Professors will make sure that no harm will come to us."

"Like they did with poor Draco? Hogwarts and its professors can't protect us from everything. Not even from a snipe. Have a good night, Harry."

"Yeah, you too," Harry said quietly, watching her skip down the hallway in pursuit of her prey.

Harry envied Luna, he realized. Here he was, embroiled in a conflict with one of the most powerful Dark Lords in history barely evading death on more than one occasion, and all she worried about was discovering various creatures. He was trying to hunt down a killer inside of Hogwarts, and she was on a snipe hunt.

Disregarding the lateness of the hour, he let his mind, and his feet, wander, basking in the quiet of the corridors. The flickering of the torches, the movement of the paintings, and the sound of the wind outside accompanied his thoughts. He found himself in a little used area of the fourth floor, but one that he frequented after finding it late last year. Tucked away in a little alcove was a window that gave one a perfect vantage point over the lake and some of the grounds. Harry stood there now, the late fall landscape as bleak as his thoughts.

A scream shook him from his reverie. Not stopping to think about what could be there waiting for him when he found the source of the scream, he took off running in its general direction, hoping he wasn't too late. He ran down the corridor, and hearing another one echoing off the walls of the stone staircase in front of him, he catapulted his way up the stairs, three at a time, and ran headlong into a figure at the top, sending them both flying.

"Who in the… Potter? What are you doing here?" Snape's usual silky tones were replaced by a frantic note Harry had never heard in his voice before.

Harry replied in between gasping for breath. "I was with…Headmaster…heard scream…came running."

Picking himself up off the ground, Snape said, "Yes, I see that. Return to your dormitory at once, Potter. This is no place for you."

"Professor…"

"Be gone, Potter. I don't care what your impossibly large ego says to the otherwise, but this is not your responsibility. You are not tasked with protecting the school and its students."

Harry was about to open his mouth to continue arguing, but one last glare from Snape quelled this desire. He was about to turn around and head down the stairs back to Gryffindor Tower, but a noise around the corner made him turn back.

"I believe I told you to leave, Potter?"

Harry was about to retort, but a yell stopped him.

"Help me! He came back for me!"

Snape, sighing deeply, hurried down the hall, Harry in his wake. They turned the corner, and there stood a familiar face, clad in torn robes marred by bloodstains.

"Isaac?"

"Harry? Oh god, Harry. I need your help. He's coming for me. I was only able to just get away. He knows that I told you."

"Potter? What is he talking about?" He had forgotten Snape was still there.

"We need to get him out of here, sir."

"If you have information about the murderer that you've concealed from us…"

Their budding argument was halted by a _whoosh_, a _thump_ and a groan. They turned to look at Isaac, an arrow protruding from his chest. The boy looked down at the projectile. Then with an effort taking the last of his strength, turned his gaze on Harry and Snape. He gave the two of them a grim smile before his eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed bonelessly to the floor.

The two of them turned towards the source of the arrow. A person garbed entirely in black stood at the other end of the long corridor, fitting another arrow to the crossbow he was holding. Snape quickly let loose a dark purple spell Harry seemed to recall seeing once before. He missed, but was still able to force the person to jerk out of the way, sending the projectile clattering off of the ceiling in front of them instead of embedding itself in one of them.

Harry, ignoring Snape's shouts, took off after their assailant, but turned the corner to face an empty corridor.

Snape walked up behind Harry.

"Whoever it is, is gone, Professor."

"Of course they are," said Snape, his customary derisive town conspicuously absent from his voice. "Any competent wizard would have been able to conceal himself from the likes of you."

"Then why can't you find him?"

"It doesn't take long to disappear, Potter, especially if they have intimate knowledge of the castle." Snape turned. "Come, we need to speak with the Headmaster. And the Aurors must be alerted, if only as a formality."

They walked back towards Isaac's body, Snape having the presence of mind to conjure a large white sheet to cover him. There was nothing he could do to conceal the arrow's presence, though.

"Shouldn't one of us stay here? What if the killer comes back and makes away with his body?"

"The protections I have placed around him should be sufficient to guard against any attempts spirit away his body until we get back. It is but a short distance to Professor Dumbledore's office."

They walked in silence, both trying to grasp the enormity of what they had witnessed. For the first time in hundreds of years, blood was staining the stone of Hogwarts, and Harry and Professor Snape were only able to stand by and watch as another innocent was felled within the confines of the castle. Lord Voldemort had been unable to touch the castle during the first war, but if Hogwarts was no longer safe from the malevolence of the Dark Lord, what hope did they have?

Snape stopped them in front of the gargoyle. "It seems apparent that Mr. Brock had told you something of importance, did he not, Mr. Potter?" Seeing Harry's nod, he continued, "I'm sure you'll have something quite enlightening to share with the Headmaster and I, won't you?"

"Yes, sir."


End file.
